When the last levee is breached by the flood,
Who will bail out the drowning and the drowned?
When the last drop of rain falls on parched ground,
How many’ll become nostalgic for mud?
When the last house is whirlwinded away,
Where will refugees migrate for shelter?
When at last it snows on the equator,
What then might the scoffers and sceptics say?
When the last ice floes turn into steam,
Shall penguins and polar bears develop gills?
When the last heather burns black on the hills,
Will they still drill oil or hew a coal seam?
Better that minds, not climate, change; still time
Before the very last clock’s final chime.